Angel
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: She could hardly finish the letter, just because she was crying so hard, but she signed it anyway. There was too much pain to this cracked, worn life, there was no reason to continue. The moonlight shone against the blade…AU/Human-fic 50th story!


Evanescence

Summary: She could hardly finish the letter, just because she was crying so hard, but she signed it anyway. There was too much pain to this cracked, worn life, there was no reason to continue. So why even try? The moonlight shone against the blade…AU/Human-fic

English Romance/Angst Rated: T Chapters:1 Words: Woody & Dolly

**This idea has been bothering me for weeks now, and I've decided to write it, just because I wanted some place to vent about my feelings. Yes, Dolly's half of the story (the suicidal and cutting part) is true about me, but I've managed to get help for it, so I'm good now. It's a human-fic, just because this would be hard to fashion out of a toy universe. All right, even if your not a Woolly fan, hang on, this happens to other people beside me: read, review, and enjoy!**

The dark figure was hardly visible in the thick sheets of pouring rain, but, at a closer range, it could be identified as a, slightly short, teenage girl, preferably one of the age of sixteen, approaching the stone fountain in the center of closed shops and restaurants. What a girl of this age, doing in a place like this, was questionable, but there was no one around to inquire her, so she continued her long, silent stride across the cobblestone walkway.

A tote bag, colored bright orange against her particularly dark garb, was slung carelessly over the female's shoulder, its contents not ascertainable to someone who was watching her walk, only if they were nosy enough to look in the bag. If they were, such person would find a folded piece of printer paper, a purple ink pen, and, wait a moment, a sharp carving knife? For someone not as educated as Sherlock Holmes, these items weren't distinguishable as a whole, only for different things, so what she planned to do was a mystery.

Once the girl had reached the stone fountain, rivulets of foaming water still pouring from its decorative spigots, despite the rain, she placed the bag on the ledge of the fountain. The girl then pulled down the hood of her black coat, revealing a head of dark purple-trick of poor light, perhaps?-and onyx eyes, rather intriguing features for a girl of her age. Rain now fell on her head, droplets running down her tan cheeks…or, maybe that water was tears, running down her face.

After removing the ridiculously heavy coat from her-yes, rather stout-torso, the girl looked down at the water of the fountain, her wavering reflection visible, raindrops continually disrupting the image. Her hair was indeed dark purple, definitely not natural, pulled into two low ponytails, held back by a red, butterfly shaped hairclips. Beneath the dark jacket, she wore an orange T-shirt, a rather odd color, but it matched her tote bag nonetheless.

The girl sat on the rocky edge of the fountain, inhaling shakily, either from previous sobbing or as if each breath physically exhausted her. This girl, like any other civilized human, had a name of course, yet it was rather odd, not as odd as her appearance, but odd: Dolly Anderson. To death with middle names, she simply referred to herself as Dolly, leaving her surname for fancier occasions, like resumes or first introductions.

Dolly reached into the bag, her hands brushing against the cool sheet of paper, but she couldn't, yet, will herself to write the letter that needed to be sent, so she just sat, miserable, on the end of the fountain, listening to the symphony of pouring water, thoughts flooding into her mind along with the liquid.

If you haven't figured it out by now, Dolly was putting a rather rash end to her young life, or "suicide" as some might refer to it, but she didn't truly consider it one or the other. She was simply stamping out the butt of the cigarette that had ruined her life, eaten away at her childhood like acid, drifting away like the smoke swirling from the end. Since she didn't know anyone with a gun, nor did she want to hang herself, Dolly chose the knife. But, she had some unfinished business to take care of, a letter to write.

Dolly's mother had passed on shortly after her birth, a tragedy that had physiologically affected her father, Damon, in some way, so his sadness was projected towards Dolly as abuse. Her older brother, Benjamin, though he went by the strange nickname of Buttercup, never went through this pain, he only waltzed off to high school, leaving her alone at a dinner table set for four.

There are four kinds of abuse: physical, emotional, sexual, and neglect, each of them equally horrible, none could rise above the other. Dolly suffered three, excluding sexual, a kind of abuse she had, thankfully, avoided, though going through the other three were terrible as well. Punches, bruises, insults, punishments, silence, having to stay in her room like a good little girl. She had asked God multiple times why this had to happen to her, but she got no answer, something that made her angry. Didn't she deserve an answer, if not a savior?

Dolly had friends, or, at least the ones she had been able to keep after all of the lies she was forced to tell to keep the secret that ate away at her. There was her best girl friend, Jessica Cusack, an enthusiastic, energetic, but caring, redhead, with a Southern twang and bright eyes. Jessie was the only person who Dolly could be around without feeling awkward or rude. There was Jessie's boyfriend, Buzz Allen, whom, even though was closer to Jessie then anyone, was still a good friend to have. There was…

Let's call him the reason Dolly was still alive now, let's call him the best friend she could ever have, or, if you want to be formal, let's call him Woodrow Pride. They had been friends forever, even before Buttercup ran off to college, a boy with shaggy brown hair, sparkling brown eyes, and a kind, caring, funny personality. Oh, how Dolly loved him, he had kept her alive for so long now…but that light was gone, even though she still loved him.

Pain seized her chest at the thought of leaving him, a thought that made her fists clench, tears running down her cheeks, asking God why once more. She wasn't answered, so Dolly, purposely, ran a hand along her right arm, the slightest brush with her fingertips sending electric rockets of pain soaring through the limb. Her teeth clamped down on each other, but there was something…indescribable about the pain, it took her mind off of everything else, it was a distraction.

Ever since she was twelve, Dolly had cut her arms: no, she wasn't emo, nor did she look at emo people in disgust, or even consider herself one of them. Slashing her wrists was a punishment sometimes, for being born, for allowing this to happen, burdening her father and her friends with her own problems. The soft tissue of her arms had turned hard, eternally scarred, permanent reminders of what she was doing.

_"Oh my God, what happened to your arm, are you okay?"_

_"…yeah. I accidentally got tangled up with the rose bush in the backyard."_

From then on, Dolly had worn long-sleeved shirts, just so she wouldn't have to hear how concerned Woody was for her safety, scars and cuts and bruises were all cleverly hidden by a thin layer of cloth, that, if peeled away, revealed the girl dying inside. No one noticed the lift in her eyes, the pain that came with lifting things, or writing, the forcedness to her laughter. No one cared.

The time had come to write the letter, for the rain was starting to let up, providing a dry enough atmosphere so her writing could be legible to the person who would find her body and the letter. It was addressed to so many people, she didn't know where to start, but Dolly began anyhow, her hand shaking, ink smearing at her attempt.

_Dear Woody, Jessie, Buzz, Buttercup, Damon, Trixie, Crystal, Slink, and anyone else who I knew,_

_I could begin with apologies, I could begin with so many old quotes, or lyrics from songs, but I'm going to begin with: goodbye. If I forget to sign this letter, or if my mind drives me to kill myself before I can finish, I need everyone to know that I'm saying goodbye, leaving the face of this Earth, nonexistent, an old memory._

_I don't know how to compose a suicide note, nor do I truly want to, but I want those I really love to know why they'll find my body in the fountain, with a knife wound in my chest. This was not the deliberate act of some criminal, no murder went on, I only put an end to my life. So, I guess this is where I write my individual goodbyes, if I'm not mistaken._

_Jessie, you were the best friend a girl could ever have, even if I truly dislike this phrase, and I hope you can move on past me, I'm not worth crying or mourning over. You were everything I wanted to be, and more, and I'll miss you a lot, whether I'm discussing things with God in heaven, or burning in Hell._

_Buzz, I can't say you were the person I knew the best, but you were nicer then most everyone in our school combined, not to mention the perfect match for Jessie. Please, take care of her, I don't want my death to set off a chain reaction. You don't have to, but please, I care about her as much as you do, and now, after all this rambling, I'm really trying to say that I'll miss you._

_Buttercup, you were a great big brother, and going off to college wasn't your fault, you were just trying to get a good education. It's good that you didn't have to suffer the abuse that Damon inflicted on me, someone in the family had to be the good one. I love you, even if you annoyed me when we were kids, you're my brother and I love you._

_Trixie, Crystal, Slink, all three of you were good people, and friends, sticking to me, even when I acted terrible towards you. I'll be watching over you three: Trixie, you show the world your great ideas; Crystal, follow your dreams, even when people judge your appearance; Slink, take good care of Crystal, and don't let your talent go unnoticed._

_Woody, I can't begin to explain how you've kept me alive, how you've supported my life, been right there when I needed you, no matter what happened. You were kind to me, you were brave, you were funny too, you kept an open-mind about every single situation. You didn't persist on every little thing that was out of place about me, every little scar or bruise, something I appreciate. Even when I'm dead, I'll always love you, I always did love you, you made my life worth living._

_Goodbye._

She could hardly finish the letter, just because she was crying so hard, but she signed it anyway. There was just too much pain and sorrow in this cracked, worn life, there was no reason to continue, no one could stop her now, so why even try? The new moonlight shone off the blade of her knife as she withdrew it from her tote bag, gripping the handle in her fist a moment, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

Dolly stood, not wanting any dramatic slow motion, or pointless fanfare, just because this was ending her life before it progressed into killing herself in a worse way. She had the knife set on an imaginary path, straight towards her chest, where it would impale her beating heart, allowing her to bleed to death. Simple, the only pain would come in a short burst, before she would fall backwards into the fountain. How sad it was, that she had her own death planned out to the little details.

Dolly didn't even take another breath, placing the blade against her chest, her hands shaking in slight doubt, but her will power pushed her on anyway, gasping a little bit in spite of herself when she first felt the tip slice through her T-shirt like a hot knife through butter. The needlelike point of her weapon was so prominent on her bare chest now, it was a little surprising, but it wouldn't stop her…

"Dolly!"

Her own name was a surprise, slurring with the rushing water around her, as she realized she had kept her eyes closed during the process of holding the knife. Dolly didn't get a chance to open them though, because she was knocked backwards, not having the opportunity to scream before she hit water, suddenly submerged beneath the freezing depths, the knife falling from her hand. Someone else jumped in, the splash sending strong ripples of water towards her, familiar arms pulling her out of the water. She went limp, but could sense eyes on her, muffled curses, but a gentle voice calling out to her.

"Dolly, sweetie, listen to me, come back, try to wake up," the voice persuaded, so familiar and heart-breaking, Dolly was tempted to break down into tears in his arms, grabbing the yellow red plaid shirt the owner wore, dry sobs wracking her body. Breathing shallowly, she looked up, the sparkling, tear-glossed brown eyes shattering her heart once more. "Dolly…"

"I'm sorry!" she sobbed, barely aware of him carrying her, bridal-style, away from her knife and the fountain and her bag and the letter, towards his car, faintly hearing a car door slam, being placed in a passenger seat, a seatbelt buckling over her chest. Dolly drifted in and out of consciousness for a little bit, her wet hair drying around her face, still waiting for her breathing to return to a steady rate.

Finally, she lifted her head, seeing Woody driving, tears brimming in his own eyes, his head quickly turning when he saw her awaken. "Oh my God Dolly, I was so scared when I saw you at the fountain, the knife looked like it was already in your chest, I thought I was too late," he rambled on, his voice breaking, trying to steady himself. "Oh God, Dolly, why?"

"I had to end it," she answered unevenly, almost panting, at how sad he seemed, not wanting to see him cry. "I had to end it all: my dad was tearing my life apart, I just-just couldn't hold on anymore, I just couldn't Woody, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't want to let this go on anymore. Can't you understand that?"

"Dolly," Woody started again, but she had already put her hands over her eyes, not crying, just trying to hold herself in one piece, feeling like she might shatter if she cried anymore. He reached over, taking her hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, the car slowly rolling to a stop, as his lips grazed her cheek, surprising her a little. "Dolly, sweetie, stop."

So she did, forever loyal to him, slowly taking her other hand off of her face, hesitant to face him, but losing breath when she saw his face, faintly illuminate by the car radio and a lit streetlamp outside. Dolly suddenly felt safe, not entirely cured of this, but safe, alone in the warm car with him, not having to worry about her father discovering her and pulling her away. Something like powerful inertia propelled her forward, so that their lips collided, in such a way that made her feel like her chest was breaking, but that was only because her heartbeat was suddenly out of control.

Woody gently caressed her cheek as they kissed, so glad that he had stopped what she was doing, wishing that this moment would last, forever and always. Eventually, they had to break away for air, but he felt his heart swell for her, the almost-joyful look in her onyx eyes, that cute gap in her bottom teeth, from where she tripped and lost her tooth. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dolly answered, perfectly honest for the first time in a while, allowing him to pull his arm around her and lay her head on his shoulder, driving further and further away from what could've been a horrible ending. "I'm perfectly fine."

**Well, cornball ending that I object to, but I hoped that you enjoy, because Dolly's conflicting emotions about cutting, suicide, and child abuse are all entirely true. No, I wasn't abused, but it just goes to show you how some people in this world truly feel about themselves. To the people who are still reading after this rambling, please leave a review!**


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